


Audiophile

by TechnoXenoPhiliac (TechnoXenoHolic)



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Earth Construct AU
Genre: Bass Kink, Music Kink, Other, Self-Indulgent, also i have no idea how to write porn, and wants to fuck the very concept of audio, audio kink, enjoy the self-service audio kink nonsense, soundwave is nonbinary, this is as close as they get
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-11
Updated: 2017-05-11
Packaged: 2018-10-30 14:02:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10878297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TechnoXenoHolic/pseuds/TechnoXenoPhiliac
Summary: Soundwave, for the first time in a long while, has some time alone(trulyalone) with their sound system.





	Audiophile

**Author's Note:**

> soundwave in this fic looks like this: [normal plating](http://i.imgur.com/Am81cRU.png) \-- [disguise form, shows their face](http://i.imgur.com/NMbFgqh.png)
> 
> if you want to know more about this au (y'know, _aside_ from the self-indulgent porn), visit <http://tfecau.tumblr.com>

The sharp, deep _thunk_ of a contrabass played pizzicato echoed in Soundwave’s audials. They let their helm loll to the side and gazed idly at the nearest speaker. Baritone saxophone layered over the contrabass in low, sultry vibrations. The pretty echo of whatever synthesizer voice was used in this song (it didn’t matter) joined in soon after, and the percussion hit heavy from the subwoofer under the mech’s bed. Soundwave pressed their lips together thoughtfully.

It had been… a while, since they last had time off like this. Time with the band wasn’t the same as time on their own—without their deployers, without their ‘superiors’ breathing down their neck, without the threat of being discovered with the enemy.

Not a single obligation or worry.

Soundwave kicked up their pedes and sat up, swinging their legs over the side of their bed. They stood, stepped lightly across the room to the door, and locked it. Just in case, they also activated the room’s soundproofing seal and comms dampening field. Then they moved back across the room and stopped beside the bed. Long, dexterous fingers reached to twist the knobs on their speaker system’s control panel, turning up the main volume, and then the bass.

Soundwave flopped onto their mattress, landing seated at the edge. They stared at their knees for a moment, then began to strip out of their mesh plating.

With the protective black layer of metalmesh stripped away and flung into some corner of their room to deal with later, Soundwave exhaled heavily and lowered themself to lie on their side. They shifted back into the middle of the bed, offlined their optics, and turned over onto their stomach.

The bass of the song shook right through the mattress. Soundwave groaned deeply and pressed into it, dug one knee into the mattress and pushed their hips forward into the vibration. They reached up with one hand and grabbed their pillow, then dragged it closer to muffle themself into. They tucked their other hand underneath themself and slid it down the flat plane of their stomach, then under their hips and between their legs, and ground their panel into their palm.

They stayed like that until the vibrations of the music had static dancing across their vision.

A hard, heavy chord prompted their spike housing to snap open, and Soundwave turned their head to the side to gasp in air. They arched their hips off the mattress and slipped their fingers between the lubricant-slicked lips of their valve. Once given the space to do so, their spike pressurized into the open air. Soundwave shuddered and drew a wet trail from their valve to their spike, twitching and biting off a desperate sound when their fingertips pressed down on their anterior node on the way there.

Soundwave smothered themself with their pillow once more and curled their fingers loosely around the base of their spike. They stroked it slowly, huffing into their pillow—and on a whim, they extended the prehensile cables from their back. Three of the four moved towards their array; the fourth arced up and over their shoulder to wind once around their neck and then slide against their lips.

Soundwave took a deep breath and opened their mouth to allow the cable inside. It sat warm and heavy against their glossa. Shivering, they closed their lips around it and focused their attention on the cables at their array.

The first cable pushed into Soundwave’s valve easily. They nuzzled their forehead more firmly into their pillow and moaned around the cable in their mouth, shuddering at the way the vibrations felt around the sensitive appendage. They fucked deeper into their own valve in time with the bass kick of the music, the motion of their hand stuttering on their spike.

The third cable pressed against Soundwave’s anterior node and twisted. They jerked into it with a cry, knees shifting against the mattress and pulling the sheets taut.

So close, so, _so_ close, just—

The song switched.

And the new one was _not_ sexy.

Soundwave spat the cable out of their mouth. _“Tease,”_ they accused their speaker system in a breathless gasp. They glared at the control panel for an instant, then buried their face into their pillow with a melodic whine. The hand on their spike gripped harder to make up for the slower rhythm of the new song.

The mech carefully nudged their final cable against the rim of their valve. They breathed deep and pushed—the slight sting made them stop and bite off a curse, pulling the cable back. It was too big and too blunt to go in all at once when there was another already in. Feeling disappointed and a little bit cheated, Soundwave shakily uncurled their fingers from around their spike, bent their wrist until the stiffness cracked out of it, and with a heavy exhale, they moved the other cable away from their anterior node to make room for their hand.

Slowly, they pushed one slender finger into their valve beside the cable already spearing them open. They crooked their finger forward and thrusted the cable, moaning into their pillow in response. They rocked their hips, the head of their abandoned spike nudging into the sheets beneath them and smearing lubricant and pre-fluid where it touched. Soundwave bit their lip. They coiled one free cable around the base of their spike and squeezed, then snuck the last cable in between their hand and array to press against their node.

“Please,” Soundwave gasped, and their frame trembled. They begged even though there was no one to plea with but themself—themself and the music. The bassline of another new song kicked in hard; Soundwave tightened the cable around their neck and choked off a desperate groan. They pushed a second finger into their valve beside the first, rubbed mercilessly at the sensors lining the anterior wall, and fucked themself harder, faster with their cable, matching the beat of the music at double time.

Soundwave turned their head to the side and panted hard. Condensation and drool made the pillow cool and clammy under their cheek. Hazy optics came online to watch the nearest speaker pulse with the music as it rose to a crescendo.

The bass dropped. Soundwave released the pressure around their spike and jerked it, ground their cables into their anterior and ceiling nodes, and overloaded with a broken, warbling sound.

The mech came down from their pleasure-high a moment later and slumped limply against their mattress. They shuddered weakly and gently slid their fingers from their valve, then turned their head to the opposite side so they could lift their hand and lick the lubricant from their fingers. They stopped with their fingers halfway back to their throat and just sucked on them for a moment, considering.

The bass beat of the song they’d overloaded to was still thumping, winding down towards its conclusion (a shame it wasn’t longer, really). Their valve calipers twitched around the cable still buried inside them.

Soundwave slipped their fingers out from between their lips and exhaled a shaky breath.

They had no obligations. Another overload couldn’t hurt.

Shivering,  Soundwave slid their cable out of their valve, unwound the one around their throat, and carefully turned over onto their back. They  slid their dampened hand down their stomach, smearing the few droplets of transfluid that clung there along their metalmesh. They bypassed their spike housing—their spike hadn’t resurfaced yet after their first overload—and nestled their fingers between the lips of their valve.

Soundwave tossed their head back against their pillow and stroked their valve in time with the beats of the music. The bass dropped away into a more melodic phrase and Soundwave bit their lip, pushing three fingers in as far as they would go—as long as they were, they reached the back of Soundwave’s valve easily.

The mech thrusted and scissored their digits, exhaling harshly. Their trembling thighs pressed tightly together around their wrist. Then they squirmed—arched off the mattress to give their cables room to move and spread their legs wide.

Soundwave bit their lip through another change in the music. Then, they swallowed a groan. They recognized the tune—of course they did, they _always_ did. But this song… this song in particular, with its slow build, the utterly _brutal_ bassline in its latter half, and the epic crescendo at its finale…

It was _perfect_ for this, if only they could get the pace right.

Two of Soundwave’s cables swiftly looped around beneath their bed and coiled around their shaking thighs to hold them apart. Anticipation had them panting; impatient, they pressed the ends of their other two cables against the opening of their valve and spread the lips with the fingers of one hand. They pushed—the cables slid in, this time without the sting of before, and once again Soundwave moaned.

Slowly, working in time with the beat of the music and drawing it out, Soundwave worked their cables in deeper. Their vents hitching, they let their fingers slip from the lips of their valve to their node and rubbed it in slow circles—gently, this time, because they were more sensitive now and this was only meant to tease.

They were nearing overload far too quickly anyway, however.  Soundwave’s hips jerked and their cables hit their ceiling node, and they spat static and arched off the berth. So close, _too_ close—

Whining, Soundwave forced the overload back. They moved their hand again and curled it around their spike in a loose grip, not moving it but letting the faint pressure keep them wanting. They struggled to keep their harsh breaths in time with the music, clutched the sheets tightly in their other hand. The bassline of the song hit hard, the subwoofer shook the bed, and Soundwave groaned from their chest. Overload was _right there,_ dancing in the stars behind their optic shutters, pulling them deeper and deeper into the music…

The final phrase of the song finally, _finally_ hit. Soundwave cursed and released the sheets to press hard on their external node, jerking their spike and fucking themself mercilessly on their cables. The crescendo built, they twisted their cables and slammed them in against their ceiling node, and as the last note played Soundwave went over the edge.

The mech came to with another, much softer and gentler song playing for them. They wheezed a hoarse laugh—it was almost like their music wanted to provide them a strange sort of aftercare.

Soundwave gingerly slid their cables back out of their valve and released the loose grip on their thighs. They retracted their cables, and then did nothing but lie there for a moment, optics shut and mouth curved in a small smile. They simply enjoyed the delicate melody playing for them.

Eventually, however, Soundwave regained some modicum of strength and processor power and decided they should get up—if for no other reason, then to give their speaker system, and their over-stimulated audials, a break. Shaking slightly, they pushed themself upright and carefully got up. They stood, wobbled, and then got their balance about them—more or less.

Soundwave staggered, limp-kneed, across the room. They smacked at the volume dial on their speaker system and managed, clumsily, to turn it down to a much softer level. Exhaling heavily, they stumbled back again and collapsed onto their bed once more.

…And now their back was cold and damp.

The mech frowned, optic ridges furrowing, and rolled to the side so they could look at the problem area.

They were met, of course, with the sight of their own transfluid.

Soundwave stared at the mess they had made for a moment—and then laughed. They collapsed onto their side and clutched their stomach with one hand, synthetic guffaws rolling from their mouth.

They’d forgotten all about it in the distraction of pleasure, but this was _exactly_ why their top sheet was waterproof.

**Author's Note:**

> hi i'm an autochorissexual virgin and i don't have a damn clue what that was. please accept my trash


End file.
